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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25302784">Nowhere To Run</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RamercyGriff/pseuds/RamercyGriff'>RamercyGriff</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jason Takes The Warriors [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Friday the 13th Series (Movies), The Warriors (Yurick) - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Crossover</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 12:09:20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>13,521</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25302784</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RamercyGriff/pseuds/RamercyGriff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Part VIII: biggest wasted opportunity in the Friday the 13th series.<br/>Now, let's pretend Jason took Manhattan just as the Coney Island Warriors were fleeing home from Cyrus' grand conclave. I think it would go something like this.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Jason Takes The Warriors [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1832884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>***<br/>
<em>run run run run run run run</em><br/>
Rennie Wickham ran through the belowdecks hallways of the good ship Lazarus. She could hear Sean a few paces behind her. She didn’t dare to even look over her shoulder. The giant with the hockey mask was somewhere behind her, and inasmuch as she was thinking anything at all, she was praying that he was very far behind her, in the bowels of the ship. </p><p>Rennie and Sean burst onto the Lazarus’ deck, into a dark sky torrent of fat raindrops. Uncle Charles was there, with Mrs. van Deusen and Tamara and Eva. </p><p>“No sign of JJ- or Miles, or Wayne, or Tammy or Eva-“ </p><p>“It’s him- it’s Jason-“</p><p>“He has an axe!” </p><p>Uncle Charles broke in, furious. “Jason Voorhees is dead! I don’t want any more of this-“ </p><p>Mrs. van Deusen cut him off, bellowing with a voice that would have been comically incongruous at any other time. “There’s no time! In the boat, everyone!”  </p><p><em>The boat? No, no, no. In this storm, so close to the water…</em> Rennie would almost rather take her chances on board with the giant. </p><p>There was a flicker out of the corner of her eye. Everyone turned to stare. It was the deckhand, the crazy one who was always muttering to himself. Now he was leaning against the cabin wall. He slumped forward and hit the deck face-first, fire axe planted firmly into his back. </p><p>Maybe the boat wasn’t so bad after all. </p><p>The party crowded onto the lifeboat. She saw Sean lean out and jab the hoist button, and the boat crept downwards with agonizing slowness. Halfway down, there was a flicker of lightning. Rennie heard a shriek- maybe hers. Outlined against the sky, she saw a massive human shape staring down at the boat. There was just enough light to see a white hockey mask over the giant’s face. She felt certain he would jump down onto them, but he seemed to hesitate, then flicker away as suddenly as he had appeared. </p><p>The boat hit turbulent water. Rennie took stock of her fellow survivors: Sean. Mrs. van Deusen. Uncle Charles, visible fear beating out skepticism. Tamara and Eva, shaking in horror. And Toby. Thank God, Toby was there. His fur was soaking and he was yipping in terror, but he was safe. Relatively speaking.</p><p>Faster than she could react, waters disgorged a stocky human figure, which draped itself over the edge of the boat. There was more shrieking, until the figure sputtered something incoherent. </p><p>“Julius!” Rennie breathed a sigh of relief. They’d last seen him being tossed overboard. The survivors hauled him onto the dinghy, where he sucked down deep, choking breaths of relief. </p><p>Uncle Charles grabbed an oar, shoved another one into Sean’s hands. He seemed to think about Julius, but the young athlete was obviously not in good enough condition. </p><p>“Row.” he said. His tone was characteristically grim and harsh, but he had a point. No time to argue. They were supposed to be near the city harbor now. They'd be safe in the city... </p><p>*** </p><p>July of 1979. Skylab fell to Earth somewhere in Australia. Famous Nazi hunter Serge Klarsfeld was nearly killed by a carbomb. In Chicago, a riot broke out between rock fans and disco fans after an ill-considered promotional stunt at Comiskey Park. History books will tell you some things, but plenty of stories only survive by word of mouth. Down through the generations, traded in the back alleys and the hideouts and the schoolyards: delinquents become the heroes of myth, a poor man’s son can be a hero in the night, and a ragtag band can seem like the last of an ancient breed…</p><p>This is the story of a desperate forced march, and of courage.</p><p><em>run run run run run run run</em><br/>
Eight hearts pounded, eight pairs of legs pumped frantically, and eight figures sprinted through a graveyard in the dead of night. Police sirens and frantic shouts were faintly visible in the distance, and overhead, unbelievably, there was the sound of chopper blades. In the pitch-black summer night, the Coney Island Warriors tore through the graveyard.</p><p>“Everybody down- <em>OW,<em> shit!”</em></em></p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“You alright?”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yeah. Just-“</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>The sound of whirring blades was directly overhead now. Each member of the gang scattered and dove behind the nearest cover they could find, waiting until the whirring and the sirens died down. Seconds turned to nearly a minute, and at length the Warriors poked their heads around the gravestones they’d ducked behind.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Swan’s nerves were the first to steady; he stood and let the glare of a lamp-post illuminate him as much as possible. After what had gone down at the conclave, each man among them would be ready to bolt at the sight of a shadow. Warriors were courageous to a fault, but nobody was immune to fear.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Everybody make it?” he called it.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Just Cleon’s missing,” said Fox, the gang’s scout and memory man.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Fuzz musta got ‘im,” Cochise put in. He was a real live soldier, not musclebound like Ajax or Snow, but he fought twice as hard. He was the only Warrior born outside Coney, and brimming with some kind of immigrant pride- his colors were the showiest, with his bead necklaces and feathered headband.   </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“You see him get busted?” Swan asked.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“I seen him, then he wasn’t there no more!” Cochise said, steadily but insistently.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Swan nodded. Maybe the cops had Cleon, and maybe they didn’t, but either way, there was no point waiting for him. They were without a leader. No choice but to flee back to Coney, hope Cleon would do the same. Swan turned to Rembrandt, the youngest of the crew.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Look around. Make sure we’re okay.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“This is a graveyard!” Rembrandt protested. He was short, slim, with full lips and long eyelashes- an easy target on the streets. He had proven he could fight, or he would not be here at all. But because he was an artist first and foremost, he sometimes did not understand soldierly discipline. Swan gave him a steely gaze; Rembrandt looked to Fox, who nodded at him. Acquiescent, Rembrandt scurried about his task, climbing a marble angel who overlooked one of the Bronx’s most historically significant families. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“So what we gonna do now?” griped Cowboy.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“We’re goin’ back home.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Mind tellin’ me how?” Vermin moaned, ever the pessimist of the group. “Coney must be fifty to a hundred miles from here!”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Only choice we’ve got,” Swan said, firmly.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Yeah, real simple. ‘Cept every cop in the city’s gonna be on the lookout,” Cochise said ruefully.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Swan pursed his lips, grimly. “We got something else to think about.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>The others looked confused.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Snow, ever quiet, with lean, muscular arms and thoughtful eyes, explained: “The Truce. Is it still on?”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Vermin understood instantly. His tone grew even more harried. “If it ain’t, we gotta bop our way all the way back home!”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Cowboy caught on. “And… none of us is packed.” It was true. By Cyrus’ instruction, none of them had brought so much as a lousy chunk of pipe to the conclave. None of them had ever been as far as the Bronx before. They were defenseless, far from home, dressed to announce readiness to fight, in a strange place that might well be hostile territory. The fear of capture, hot and pulsing, was gone. Now a different kind of fear weighed down on them- a fear that was the absence of hope.  </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em><em>Rally them. Cleon’s gone. Do what he would do</em>. Swan spoke as calmly and firmly as he could. “If the Truce is off, anything could hit us between here and the train. If we get separated, you make for the platform at Union Square. That’s where we change trains.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“I only got one question. Who named you leader?” It was Ajax who spoke. Of the Warriors, only Snow could rival his strength or size, but while Snow was ever quiet and observant, Ajax was never less than loud, boastful, arrogant, irreverent. “I got as much right to take over as you.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Cleon’s choice. Swan’s war chief,” Fox said.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Ajax showed his teeth in a way that might technically have been a smile. “I bet you can’t even find the Subway.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Swan kept his face poker-still. “Maybe we ought to talk about this later.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“What’s wrong with right now? I wanna be warlord.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em><em>Everything’s wrong with right now, you stupid lunkface.</em> Swan loosened his shoulders and walked a couple steps in Ajax’s direction. “Make. Your. Move.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>For maybe an eternity there was no sound but crickets. This kind of challenge had never been issued under Cleon’s leadership. Nobody knew what would happen next.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Hey, Ajax, lighten up.” said Cowboy.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Big boy, Swan’s war chief.” Vermin forced a laugh.  </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“We better stick together.” Cochise added, warily.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Ajax saw popular opinion was not with him. His face clouded over, and he stood down. For now.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Rembrandt called from his perch on the angel. “You guys! The train’s right over there. Hurry up! Let’s go!”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Swan eyed Ajax. “Let’s move.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>As a man, the Warriors departed. Swan heard Cochise clapping Ajax on the shoulder and offering some consoling words. Swan was still wary. They had been in scraps before, but making their way home across someone else’s territory was more than they’d ever attempted before. Nobody was handier than Ajax in a rumble, but without Cleon to rein him in, he might not be such an asset.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Swan’s eyes turned towards the sky. It had been higher than ninety today, but now it looked like rain. Well, perfect. At least nothing else could go wrong. The Warriors soldiered on into the city.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>***</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Jesus <em>Christ</em>, Fontaine. You said this was under control.” Ed Landis was currently seething with fury. He had the unenviable task of being duly appointed sheriff of Cunningham County in the great state- well, the state at any rate- of New Jersey. Not exactly a rough place. By all rights, it should have been an easy posting. Except that Cunningham County encompassed a campground known as Forest Green, once known as Crystal Lake, and known even better as Camp Blood. For that reason alone, what should have been a quiet, unremarkable posting was anything but.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Rowan LaFontaine strode up to the pier in a black suit that screamed I Work For the Feds. She was slim, smooth-faced, even supermodel pretty, but the sight of her mostly just gave Ed Landis a headache.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“I don’t know what gave you that idea,” she said. “There’s no ‘under control’ where Voorhees is concerned.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Landis looked to his deputy, who was shakily apologizing to someone about a puddle of vomit he’d left, promising he’d clean it up if someone loaned him a mop. Rookie. Welcome to Camp Blood. The sheriff turned his attention back to the pier, where CSIs where getting all the pieces back together.   </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Near as anyone could tell, the victim had been garroted with a fishing line. It sure beat Ed how they’d figured that out with the head severed and stuffed in a tacklebox, but that was their job. The actual killing blow came in the form of repeated impalement through the stomach, with a broad flat blade.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>The whole thing was enough to ruin anyone’s day, and all that was before his least favorite Fed had shown up on scene.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“He’s never struck this far off the campgrounds.” Landis muttered.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>LaFontaine shrugged, a fairly callous gesture in the circumstances, though Ed realized he wasn’t one to talk.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“We know so little for sure about his habits. Nothing for certain.” LaFontaine said.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“I thought you said he wasn’t a problem unless someone disturbed him.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“And yet somehow someone always disturbs him. We’ve tried roping the area off, putting out hazardous waste warnings, the whole nine yards. Nothing does the trick. That’s not to mention all the idiots at HQ who have their eye on him as a military asset.” </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“And nobody tried just cutting him to pieces?”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Someone’s tried <em>everything,</em> Landis. Some of our guys think if there was nothing left of his body at all, he’d still find a way of controlling other people remotely. Remind me to show you the Roy Burns file sometime.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Landis breathed deeply. He wasn’t angry at LaFontaine, not really. At least she had the decency to keep him in the loop.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“So.” he sighed. “Is he still in the county?”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“We think not. We’ve had some people combing the area, and he’s not around here anyplace. This guy-“ she indicated the remains- “was supposed to be on board a passenger ferry called the Lazarus. Odds are good if Jason got him, he was aboard that ship.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Where was it headed?”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>LaFontaine raised her eyebrows conspiratorially. “I’m probably not supposed to tell you it’s New York. But I imagine you could read the publicly accessible manifest and work out that it was New York.”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Upstate?”</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Nope. The Big Apple.” </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>“Wonderful. Guess someone’s got to phone the NYPD. Tell them he’s back. The man behind the mask…” </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>***</em>
  </em>
</p><p>
    <em>The water. He can move through it like nothing else, but he is terrified of it. It surrounds, crushes, smothers. Reminds. Still, he must brave it to get to land. His mother’s voice is urging him onward. Kill them, Jason. Kill for mommy Kill for mommy Kill Kill for for moKillmyforKillmoformyKiKiKi-Ma-Ma-Ma</em> 
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>Hands like catcher’s mitts grip a dockside ladder. Muscles like steel cable haul a three-hundred pound, worm-ridden, water-bloated body up onto land. Huge feet are planted firmly on the ground. From behind his mask, Jason Voorhees looks around. He is alone, which is good for the hunt. Still, he can sense that girl and her friends. He does not know why she is special. But he has always trusted mother’s advice in the past: outsiders were sinners, fornicators, and killers. They would hurt you. Only one thing to do. </em>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <em>And yet… this place is not like his lake. He turns his head. Buildings far bigger than any he’s ever seen. In the distance, lights so bright that the night is barely dark. It is more than he ever imagined could exist in the world. He is intimidated. But he is also intrigued. Giant booted feet barely making a sound, Jason marched dutifully into the city.</em>
  </em>
</p><p>***</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Nowhere To Hide</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Across all five boroughs, the gangs of New York were up in arms. Word had spread faster than wildfire through dry grass; the meeting had ended in chaos. Cyrus, the aspiring Duke of Manhattan, was dead, gunned down at his own Grand Conclave. And now the nearly one thousand gangbangers in attendance were scattering, panicked, fleeing police, brawling with each other as the truce disintegrated overnight. </p><p>It was a mess for New York’s Finest; unfortunately they sent Sergeant Krupke instead. Outwardly Krupke was fuming; they’d had plenty of tip-offs about this supposed conclave, but this was not how they’d expected the big bust to go; too many of the ‘bangers were going to slip through police fingers and wreak God knew what havoc on their way back to their ma’s houses. Inwardly, though, Krupke had to admit he was enjoying himself. It had been a long time since he’d gotten to use his truncheon. He did his best to suppress a grin as his boys worked over some punks who’d been too slow to escape the maelstrom of police activity. According to their jackets, they called themselves the Wanderers. <em>Won’t be doing much wandering now.</em></p><p>Krupke’s enjoyment was to be short-lived. Wandering off alone to check for stragglers, he bumped into what felt like an unusually narrow, wet brick wall. Krupke jumped back and let his eyes adjust; some shitheel was standing around in the middle of the park, a big bastard in soaked, tattered clothes and a hockey mask. Krupke’s nerves told him something was wrong but he suppressed them. </p><p>“Hey, you! Fuck you doin’ wanderin’ around here after dark, uh? I’m walkin’ here.” </p><p>The guy in the mask was silent enough to make a corpse uncomfortable. Krupke suddenly realized just how tall Hockey Mask was, at least six-five, and noticed for the first time that the guy was holding a machete, a freaking machete, clamped in his right hand. Krupke’s nerves screamed at him but he quieted them. </p><p>“You one ‘a Cyrus’ little punks? That toy don’t look legal. Wanna give me a reason I shouldn’t take you uptown and lock you up?” </p><p>More silence. Well, that did it. </p><p>“Alright. Time you hoodlums learned you don’t own the streets-“ </p><p>Hockey Mask’s arm shot out with a speed not normal for someone that size, catching Krupke by his throat. The sergeant wheezed, trying to alert his boys; the grip on his neck was tight enough that he could barely make a sound. He felt himself being lifted off the ground- no, no way, nobody was strong enough to lift a body off the ground by the neck one-handed- and brought level with Hockey Mask’s face. Through the eye slots in the mask, Krupke saw big, black, sad-looking eyes, rimmed with angry red. His feet kicked the air futilely. His vision was fading. The squeeze tightened. </p><p>Krupke lost conscious shortly after his throat burst under the iron grip, and shortly before his body tumbled onto the ground. </p><p>***<br/>
“Wonderful choice of places to dock a boat, Mr. Robertson.” Uncle Charles’ voice was curt as always but, with everyone soaked to the bone and weary from adrenaline burnout, roughly ten times less welcome.</p><p>Sean looked like he was ready to burst with anger and Rennie considered standing up for him- they might still be paddling around if not for his compass- but she simply didn’t have the energy. Her uncle did have a point, though; this wasn’t the best part of town. Rennie had no idea where they were exactly; they’d left the lifeboat behind in some cannery warehouse and a few turns later her inner compass gave up. The buildings in New York were surprisingly tall and close-set; the effect left her feeling squeezed in. Rennie’s eyes strayed inadvertently over to a window and her heart froze.</p><p>
  <em>Hhhhelp me. Hhhhelp me.</em>
</p><p>The reflection in the window wasn’t her own. Instead she saw a young boy, bald, deformed, and somber, feet not touching the ground as though floating in water; while the thin lips didn’t move, she heard the silent plea for help.</p><p>“NO!” Rennie couldn’t suppress a scream, making everyone in the group jump. When the panic subsided, the boy in the window had disappeared, and Mrs. van Deusen was at her side reassuring her.</p><p>“It’s alright. It’s fine. You’re safe now, we all are-“</p><p>Rennie struggled to explain. “I… he was in the window, the boy-“</p><p>“Could she knock it off? I’m already freaking out over here!” Tamara’s voice was shrilling. Eva tried to calm her friend while Sean moved in to snap back at her; Julius did his best to calm everyone from a distance and even Toby started yapping. In a New York second, everyone’s voices were blending together in a panicked frenzy.</p><p>An earsplitting whistle cut through the night air, rising above the discordant voices instantly. A few participants clamed hands over their ears. The source of the whistle cleared his throat.</p><p>“That’s enough. I won’t have any more of this juvenile behavior, at a time when we can least afford infighting-“</p><p><em>”CHARLES.”</em> Mrs. van Deusen spoke with steel in her voice. Uncle Charles actually stopped mid-rant. He looked over the teacher and his niece for a minute, inhaled deeply, and started again.</p><p>“I… I only meant. We’ve been through a lot in the last few hours. I’m sure it’s been a very trying experience for all of us. Let’s try to rein in our passions and just… find a cab or a hotel or something, so we can contact the police and get some sleep.” </p><p>It was impressive enough that Charles McCulloch, Lakeview High’s own Dean Wormer, was reining in his general unpleasantness. Everyone being cold and miserable helped. Some minor sniveling and the group continued on its way. Rennie’s felt queasy inside. The fighting had been over her, she knew. She was vaguely aware of everyone’s reactions around her: concern from Sean and Mrs. van Deusen, suspicion from Tamara, and maybe some frustration from Julius. But the boy… those visions weren’t <em>nothing.</em> They meant something. Maybe something related to the giant back on the boat… Jason, if that really was him.</p><p>Or maybe she was simply going crazy. But it all seemed so real…</p><p>***<br/>
<em>And somewhere across New York City, Jason Voorhees is taking in the sights of this new city. He wipes blood off his blade contemplatively. Against all logic and his upbringing and his education, he finds he is enjoying this new place…</em></p><p>
  <em>And suddenly he senses something. The connection with the girl. Something about them is similar, like opposite poles of a magnet. And Jason Voorhees, for reasons he cannot understand, much less articulate, feels drawn...</em>
</p><p><em>He picks up the new bait he has made. It might come in handy. Ki ki ki ma ma ma…</em><br/>
***<br/>
… no point in worrying about it now. Uncle Charles, surprisingly enough, had a point. Get inside, call the police. Then sleep if at all possible. With all that had happened, most of them had probably been up something like twenty hours. Jason had been on the boat. Maybe he’d never gotten off. Either way, it was best to let someone else handle it. For now, just get somewhere safe-</p><p>“Hands up.”</p><p>Fuck.</p><p>Two guys in dirty green-grey shirts had popped out of the alley in front of them. Rennie instinctually looked back to see two more of them behind. Toby yapped, and she tightened her grip on him, trying to shush him. She did some quick math in her head: six against four, but only Julius and maybe Sean would be any good in a fight, and at least some of these guys looked like they were carrying switchblades. Perfect. After all they’d been through, getting jumped by some gangbangers.</p><p>“Got some good shit here, homes,” one of the boppers gloated.</p><p>***<br/>
Fox scoped the scene out with eyes as sharp as his namesake. This was their territory, and those were the correct colors. “Orphans. So far down they ain’t even on the map. Real low class.”</p><p>He saw Swan weighing options in his mind. “Numbers?”</p><p>Fox gave his best guess. “Full strength, maybe thirty.”</p><p>“Lot more than ten,” Vermin put in nervously.</p><p>Ajax growled. “Not if they’re wimps. Sick of this running crap anyway.”</p><p>Fox was tense. Already tonight, they’d nearly been run over in a bus driven by the Turnbull Avenue Crew. As their war chant went, you didn’t mess with the ‘bulls, less you wanted the horns. Their reputation was pretty bad, while the Orphans’ was barely a blip, but one way or another he wasn’t sure they were in any condition for a fight.</p><p>Vermin was muttering to himself again. “We’re gonna get japped here…”</p><p>Swan spoke. “No matter what he says, nobody lip off, nobody get hot, I’m gonna see what I can do.”</p><p>“When’d you turn into a fucking diplomat?” Ajax muttered.</p><p>“Yeah,” Vermin joked. “You ain’t exactly the State Department type.”</p><p>Swan ignored them. “Fox, you’re with me.”</p><p>Fox had been afraid of that.</p><p>***</p><p>Rennie’s heart was pounding. One of the ‘bangers had an arm around her neck, and the barrel of a gun to her temple. She felt him fiddling with the pendant around her neck, the one Sean had given her; with a quick tug he pulled it off- “Ain’t that sweet?”- and pocketed it.</p><p>Sean looked like he was looking for an opening to jump on the creep, but with a gun to Rennie’s head, he didn’t know what to do. Uncle Charles was simmering with fury, too. Even Toby began to yelp angrily.</p><p>The ‘banger, apparently amused, pulled the gun away from Rennie’s temple and aimed it right at the dog. <em>No.</em> Rennie, unthinking, pushed his arm to the side just as she saw his finger curl around the trigger. The shot rang out, richocheting off the asphalt near Toby’s paws. Spooked, the dog scampered off into the night.  </p><p>Rennie felt the thug tighten his grip and return the barrel to her temple.</p><p>Ms. van Deusen pleaded. “Please, don’t hurt her-“</p><p>“What? Hurt this princess? Would I do that? I was just thinkin’ she looked like a party girl. Might like a date with me and my friend.” He and his friend let out phlegmy, half-cough laughs.</p><p>“Follow us, and we’ll blow her fuckin’ head off, comprende?”</p><p>Rennie watched the group stare in helpless horror as she was dragged off.</p><p>***</p><p>“Maybe you wanna show me your invitation?” The leader of the Orphans, shaggy of hair and filthy of face, did his best to look imposing.</p><p>To Swan, that came naturally. “How do you figure?”</p><p>“You come armying down here, invading our territory, no permits, no parley-“</p><p>“We’re not invading. And I’m parleying right now.”</p><p>Fox tried to stay cool. Having to kowtow to his toy felt like having to eat crow. But they needed to get through this territory peacefully. Don’t mouth off. Don’t mouth off. He spoke up:</p><p>“We were just at that meeting up in the Bronx. Just going home to Coney, and the train gets messed up by fire and dumps us here.”</p><p>The Orphans’ warlord- by reputation, Fox believed his name to be Sully- looked back and forth between them. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man. How could this be a big meeting if the Orphans wasn’t there?”   </p><p>Fox tried not to roll his eyes. “Yeah- ah, you didn’t miss much. Lot of hassle, cops showed, some heads got busted-“</p><p>Wrong thing to say. Sully bristled indignantly. “You think the Orphans ain’t with it? We ain’t well known?”</p><p>“We didn’t say that.” Swan said, conciliatory. The chief Orphan wasn’t about to stop his manifesto, though.</p><p>“We got a heavy rep! You mess with us, you’ll find that out.” He snapped his fingers and an underling pulled out a handful of newspaper clippings.</p><p>“You see that? They write about our raids in the newspaper.” Sully looked smug as he showed off the clippings.</p><p>Fox forced himself not to burst out laughing. “Yeah, man. That’s really heavy. Orphans? Yeah, I think our youth worker, she talks about you all the time.”</p><p>“We ain’t got one.” The Orphan said snottily.</p><p>“Well. Must be because you guys are so bad, they’re afraid of you,” Fox replied, poker-faced and ignoring Swan’s warning glance. </p><p>***<br/>
Julius was furious. He could have taken those hoods, knife or no knife, if he… if he hadn’t been afraid. Like some kid scared of monsters under the bed. He started to storm off in their direction, but felt a hand on his shoulder- Mr. McCulloch.</p><p>“Man, we can’t let them just get away-“</p><p>“You’re right. We can’t. But they have a gun on her. What we need is the police.” Somehow that didn’t sound like McCulloch’s usual snappishness.</p><p>Julius wanted to argue. But… it was a fair point. Even if he could fight off some punk with a blade- which he’d never actually done before- that might put Rennie in danger.</p><p>“So what, then?” Sean asked.</p><p>McCulloch’s mind seemed to race. “We… we’ll have to split up. Groups of two.”</p><p>“I’m no so sure that’s a good idea,” Ms. van Deusen said, in that tone that meant ‘that’s a bad idea.’</p><p>McCulloch sounded like he wasn’t too sure either. “I… my niece needs help as soon as possible. Look for police or phone booths to call them. Don’t go further than a few blocks, and regroup here. Be careful.”</p><p>Julius wound up with Tamara and Eva while and Sean with Ms. van Deusen. Somehow, McCulloch blundered off by himself.</p><p>“Why are even doing this?” Tamara said- sobbed, really- as they hurried along. “Wickham got herself taken, and you saw, she was acting all crazy-“</p><p>Julius tried not to scream. “Can’t leave her. It’d be the same for any of us. Even you.”</p><p>Tammy was suitably chastened. Eva, falling in to her natural role, went to her side to comfort her. No time for that. Find a payphone, or a cop, or something. This class trip wasn’t turning out to be as advertised.</p><p>***<br/>
Charles McCulloch was frantic, barely aware that he’d wound up without a buddy. He had always been capable, in control, knowing what to do next. Over the course of this trip he had known for the first time in a long time what it felt like to lose control. And now his niece- <em>his niece-</em> was lost in this concrete nightmare of a city. If something happened to her… </p><p>No. He could fix this. He knew he could. His prayers were answered by the sight of a police officer leaning against a lamppost. </p><p>“I say! You there! Officer! I need your help, my niece had been abducted by hoodlums, I believe I can describe them-“ </p><p>The boy in blue wasn’t responding. Charles McCulloch felt fury building up in him. </p><p>“Are you <em>listening?</em> A young girl’s life is in danger!” He grabbed the officer by the shoulder and got a look at the badge. “Mister Krupke-“ </p><p>The officer’s head flopped in a distinctly unnatural way. In the streetlight Principal McCulloch realized his throat had been torn away- or burst. Charles McCulloch felt his blood run cold. He had no time to react when he felt an arm like an iron bar curl with lightning speed around his neck. </p><p>***<br/>
“Please, don’t-“</p><p>“Ah, loosen up, baby. It’ll feel way better if you’re stoned.”</p><p>Panic wouldn’t let Rennie take full account of her surroundings. Some passageway between the warehouses, she had peripheral awareness of decrepit brownstones with ‘Condemned’ signs. Broken wooden palettes were stacked around, covered in filthy, torn sheets.</p><p>“Welcome to the casbah, princess,” said one of the creeps, grinning through a mouthful of bad teeth. “We’d normally have more company, but some of our boys went off to the Conclave tonight.” He clutched a syringe full of yellow gunk in one hand.</p><p>Rennie slowed down, tried to calm her breathing. Let them take some time to get caught up in the speech, then try to claw someone’s eyes out. Someone was rolling her sleeve up.</p><p>“Now this parade can be smooth or rough, princess. Your ca-“</p><p>His voice cut off mid-word. There was a smooth sound, hard to describe exactly. But suddenly a small, slender hunting knife was sprouting from the banger’s neck. Everyone’s gaze turned in the direction of the knife.</p><p>Jason Voorhees stood in the mouth of the alley. In one hand he held the machete, spattered with black blood. In the other he held a body. Rennie was only vaguely aware of something wrong with the body’s face- but she recognized Uncle Charles’ suit. </p><p>“oh god,” Rennie heard herself breathe.</p><p>“No trespassers, fuckface,” snarled one of the captors, and produced a switchblade. He moved in just a hair too close to the masked giant- <em>No, you idiot-</em> and in less than the time it took to blink, the machete had cloven his body apart like a warm stick of butter. </p><p>The gangbangers had been full of sleazy bravado before; now they were screaming. Some- those who presumably hadn’t seen well enough- lunged out, maybe hoping to help their colleague. Most stayed riveted to one spot in horror. Rennie didn’t waste an extra second of thought. What would you call this- diablo ex machina? </p><p>She ran, down the alley; the where didn’t matter so much as the away right now. As she did, she thought she heard the screams behind her grow less and less loud.  </p><p>Rennie made turns at random, and ran until the walls surrounding her were less narrow; she couldn’t suppress a little yelp when she blindly bumped into Sean and Ms. van Deusen, who had a scared-looking Toby clutched in her arms. </p><p>“Rennie!-“</p><p>“No time. Run now. Talk later.” </p><p>***</p><p>Few things, Fox reflected, could be sadder than applauding someone for flexing muscles they didn’t have. He nodded and acted impressed for Sully-the-Orphan for what seemed like ages, subtly coaching Swan through the same. With time, the guy seemed to be satisfied, and he said:</p><p>“Hm. Guess there’s nothing wrong with making it through our territory, so long as you come in peace.”</p><p>Promising. </p><p>“But you’ll have to take off your colors. Go as civilians.” </p><p>Fox nearly felt his jaw drop, and knew without looking Swan was bristling with rage beside him too. Walking into another gang’s territory in your soldiering clothes was an act of war, sure. but when you walked as a member of the gang, you didn’t remove colors for anyone but your warlord. Sully’s request was nothing short of a request for subjugation. </p><p>“Fuck you.” Swan said simply. </p><p>Sully glowered. “This ain’t your turf, Warrior. You come in here as soldiers, we’re gonna come down on you. Hear that? We’re gonna fuckin’ <em>rain</em> on you. So you gonna take your colors off, or-“ </p><p>That was when the sound of scuffling footsteps and frantic breaths caught up to them. Everyone present turned to stare. Fox was dimly aware that the other Warriors were more alert in their waiting place in the alley behind.</p><p>“ogod, please, help, he’s right behind us-“</p><p>It was the last thing any of them had expected. Some civilians were running in their direction, wet clothes and frazzled hair, breath frantic and screams shrill. Fox was able to make out two kids maybe Rembrandt’s age and an older chick, clearly not locals if they were dumb enough to be out this hour.<br/>
The strange trio came to a halt in front of them, panting heavily; the girl said-</p><p>***<br/>
Rennie came to a halt in front of the small crowd, panting heavily, van Deusen and Sean behind her. She realized the crowd was full of more grubby shirts and a few leather vests worn over bare chests. <em>More</em> gangbangers? No, it wasn’t possible. Still, a group was safety, of a sort. She heard herself say… </p><p>*** </p><p>“You’ve got to help… he’s right behind us… it’s Jason…” </p><p>Fox heard Swan, still sounding baffled, say “Who?” </p><p>“He’s… a dead man… out of hell, some kind of ghost-“ </p><p>Sully, evidently not happy to have his speech interrupted, spoke up. “You all think this is some kind of fuckin’ joke? We’re the Orphans, shitheads! Nobody cracks jokes on us, nobody walks through our territory without payin’ us tribute! Now I want-“ </p><p>Light is popularly believed the fastest thing in the universe. It can move through impossible distances in the space of a human thought. But darkness always has the advantage, because it’s simply there without having to move at all. And Jason Voorhees, for all his size, had the speed of darkness. A dirty hockey mask with red streaks emerged from the shadows of the alley behind Sully. A massive hand grabbed the Orphan’s head, squeezed enough to make eyes bulge from their sockets, and the blade of his machete sprouted from the Orphan’s chest and snaked back out. Sully collapsed without a sound, while his guards fell to the ground trying to jump away.</p><p>Fox saw it happening. Maybe he had time to react, but somehow his body didn’t let him. His mind wasted seconds convincing itself what he’d seen was not some strange Halloween prank.  </p><p>Fox heard the strange girl and the other visitors shrieking in terror, even some roars from his fellow Warriors in the alley behind. But before he could do anything at all, that machete in the monster’s hand whistled through the air again, just in front of him. Fox felt cold, and everything began to go dark.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Escape from New York</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><em>”All right, now. I’ve got a message for all you boppers out there in the big city, all you street people with an ear for the action. The Big Apple’s tearing herself apart over what happened at the Conclave. Watch yourselves out there, babies. Word on the street is there’s some big mother in hockey gear tearing things up somewhere near Turnbull territory. No news yet on whether it’s the same bad dude who’s been causing so much trouble for the Chinatown Purple Dragons. All kinds of misfortune out there, babies. It’s officially midnight, and that means we’re wishing you a happy Friday the 13th.</em><br/>
<em>Uh, oh. We’ve got a request, and it’s from the Gramercy Riffs. A special for the Warriors, that real live bunch from Coney…”</em><br/>
***<br/>
It was like the frames on a film moving in slow motion. The way the thing lunged, the way the blade whistled through the air. Suddenly Fox was gushing blood like paint from a knifed spray can, red spilling it like a waterfall, spattering on pavement. And suddenly the Warriors’ memory man simply collapsed with barely a gasp.<br/>
Swan had a reputation for being real solid- totally unflappable. He had been in tough scrapes before, even watched one or two boppers get straight-up wasted when a rumble got ugly. But nothing he had seen on the streets compared to this thing. It looked like a dude, in tattered gear, like a workman, and he had a goalie mask on. But the guy was huge, taller than Ajax and easily more musclebound, and what little skin was visible looked grey and bloated and rotting like a mask left to melt in the sun. And as that thing loomed over him, cold anger in the vacant eyeholes of its mask, maybe the first time in his life, Swan froze.<br/>
He had never expected the Grim Reaper to look like this. This was it. This was death.<br/>
Or it would have been. Swan felt the weightlessness as something- someone- plowed into his side. With what little was left of his senses, Swan realized it was Cowboy. As the deadly blade came down, it barely missed the two Warriors. The hulk wielding it didn’t have time to react as the other Warriors swarmed him; Snow had it in a headlock while Ajax struck at its chest furiously. Vermin and Rembrandt were at his sides now, helping him to his feet. He was even vaguely aware of the civilians- chick, rich kid, lady- turning to beat a retreat.<br/>
Swan didn’t know where the thought came from, but it came; <em>You’re the warchief. Cleon left you in charge. Get on your feet and prove you deserve it.</em><br/>
Swan brushed aside the hands on his shoulders as gracefully as possible and seized ahold of his wits. “WARRIORS. FALL BACK!” he bellowed.<br/>
It was a kneejerk reaction born of fear, fear of something he didn’t understand. It wasn’t the right thing to say. He realized that too late. In the circumstances it would only confuse, make them hesitate.<br/>
Sure enough, Ajax turned to glare in disbelief, and the masked giant, showing not the barest hint of exertion, reached behind his back with one hand, yanked Snow with enough force to break the headlock, and hurled him forward. Snow was not a small man. But the giant threw every last pound of him like nothing more than a scrap of paper, slamming his body in Ajax and sending them tumbling in a pile.<br/>
The giant prepared for another swing. Ponderous. Slow. No time to think. Act. Swan groped for the bag Rembrandt carried, pulled out a bottle of cheap booze with dirty cloth tied around the neck. There was one lesson they’d learned from tangling with the Destroyers; it always paid to have one of these things handy. Lighter in pocket. Flick. Flame. Toss. Light the bastard up.<br/>
Glass broke across the giant’s body and after an eternity of less than a second, his body was ablaze. The Warriors stared in horror. Somehow, the thing in the mask was standing there, not falling to its knees, not so much as a scream of pain, glaring with naked hate as fire engulfed its body. Then it lurched forward.<br/>
“SCATTER,” Swan bellowed, and the Warriors, still wracked with fear, scrambled to their feet and made their retreat. Hoping they’d take his lead, Swan charged in the same direction of the three civilians. They knew something. About that… thing. The thing that killed Fox. He’d make them talk.<br/>
***<br/>
<em>Jason Voorhees feels no pain. Or maybe all he knows is pain, so a little more won’t make a difference. Fire licks at his worm-riddled flesh. He does not know what it will do, but nothing can kill him. Nothing can ever kill him. His mother said so. He is her special, special boy, ki ki ki ma ma ma…</em><br/>
<em>Jason lurches to a nearby fire hydrant. He has only seen one in cartoons but he knows what they are for. His sword swings, cleaving into the metal. He places his foot atop it and strains. The metal breaks and water spouts up in a geyser. Water. Hated. But needed, now. Jason lets it wash the fiery muck from his body. He only wanted the girl, the girl who calls to him. But now he has another enemy. Make them pay, Jason, make Mother proud…</em><br/>
***<br/>
Rennie couldn’t go any further. Too much had happened, too much fleeing and too much fear. Maybe she was supposed to feel weak and pathetic about that, but after a day of being shipwrecked, nearly abducted by gangbangers, watching multiple people die and being stalked by an undead serial killer, seeing her uncle with his face ripped off his head, and possibly losing her dog in New York City, Rennie felt she had a right to a short breather.<br/>
So she collapsed, leaning over her knees, choking out hurried breaths, hunched over her knees, and Sean and Ms. van Deusen had the decency to stop as well. Both were clearly as exhausted as she was, but still wary and wired. No way were any of them out of the clear yet. They were in the mouth of yet another alley, tattered chainlink fence at the end. Not a promising locale, but at least they appeared to be alone.<br/>
“I- I’m okay,” she finally worked up the breath to say. “I just- I need a minute.”<br/>
Sean nodded. “Did they- are you-?”<br/>
Rennie had a reasonably good idea what he was hinting at but didn’t feel like talking about it. “I’m fine.” Her voice sounded hollow in her ears as she added, for no reason she could understand, “I… Uncle Charles is dead. I think… Jason got him.”<br/>
And then Mrs. van Deusen was squeezing her again, and Sean was looking like he wanted to join in. “And- Tamara, Eva, Julius? Did you see them?” the teacher asked.<br/>
“No?”<br/>
She saw Sean’s throat tighten. “We split up to look for… we split up. We haven’t seen them.”<br/>
To look for you, he didn’t say. So she wouldn’t feel it was her fault. Well, thanks for the effort, Sean. Her hands went unintentionally to her neck. “Oh. Shit.”<br/>
“What?”<br/>
“I… I lost the Liberty pendant you got me. It slipped off when they- I lost it.”<br/>
There was a brief silence after which everyone burst into some rather sickly laughter. Rennie felt tears squeezing out of the corners of her eyes.<br/>
“Sorry. Good point, I guess after everything that went wrong, I probably don’t want too many mementos of New York lying around.”<br/>
“No, totally. I mean... it’s a tragedy for real now.”<br/>
“Still have the pen you gave me,” Rennie mumbled, pulling Mrs. van Deusen’s present out of her coat pocket.<br/>
The teacher gave her a quick peck on the forehead. “We need to keep moving,” she said. “It’s still not safe out here.”<br/>
That was true. The streets were evidently dangerous even when immortal killers <em>weren’t</em> wandering around-<br/>
Suddenly a hand was over her mouth and an arm like an iron bar was around her waist; she managed a weak scream before her voice was cut off. Figures in red-leather vests had flanked them, restraining Sean and Mrs. van Deusen before they could react. Gangbangers, again- more accurately, gangbangers still, the same guys they’d left behind with Jason. Well, the legends about New York were clearly not just rumor. It said something about Rennie’s life in the last few hours that <em>human</em> killers were now a comforting possibility.<br/>
Sean was swearing before one of them, the dopey looking one with the hairy chest, socked him in the guy, knocking the wind out of him. In the dim street lamp, Rennie saw the logo on the back of his vest: “The Warriors,” plus a decal skull with two big red-tipped wings. Had to appreciate dedication to brand.<br/>
Another Warrior stepped forward, a lean, stony-faced guy with his chest bared, looking Rennie dead in the eye.<br/>
“Ajax,” he said. “Let her talk.”<br/>
“She’ll scream!” came a grunt in Rennie’s ear.<br/>
Stony-face, who was evidently the leader, glared a bit. Then he spoke to Rennie directly. “What I saw tonight doesn’t make any goddamn sense. Some big fuck takes out one of my soldiers, then takes a firebomb to the face without flinching. And that happened cuz you brought it into my life. I want to know what’s going on, and you’re gonna tell me. You can scream, maybe try and run- just as long as you want to let Big Ugly know where we are. Got it?”<br/>
Rennie’s mind was racing, but options seemed limited. She did her best to nod in the thug- Ajax? Like in the Iliad?- in the thug’s grip.<br/>
Stony-face looked at her captor again. “Let her go.”<br/>
“Swan, I-“<br/>
The glare intensified.<br/>
The grip on Rennie was relaxed. She realized “Ajax” was big, big and muscly. After seeing Jason Voorhees, though, that barely registered. As she stumbled out of his grip, she heard him grumble something like “Turnin’ faggot…”<br/>
‘Swan’- if Ajax was a strange name for a gangster, Swan took the cake- evidently heard it too. “You planning on bitching all night?” he snapped.<br/>
Ajax stared his leader dead in the eye. “You turned chickenshit back there. Called me off when me and Snow had that fuckin’ toy cold. Scout coulda still been alive.”<br/>
The rest of the Warriors were stopped cold, looking stunned. Swan’s eyes were glimmering with fire. Clearly a nerve had been struck.<br/>
“We’ll discuss it later. Right now, we got more pressing matters.” said Swan, with deadly finality, and Ajax stalked off somewhere to cool his head. Swan turned to Rennie. “Can’t stay here. That thing’s following us. That means until we find a train station and put distance between it and us, you’re coming with us to tell us what the hell you know about it.”<br/>
Rennie swallowed. “I’m not leaving my friends.”<br/>
Swan stared her down. “Then they come with. Fine.”<br/>
The Warrior with the shell necklaces and the feathered braids spoke up. “Hey, Swan, we gotta look after three civilians now?”<br/>
“We already ain’t doin’ so hot by ourselves,” the Warrior with the hairy-chest added, smiling weakly.<br/>
Swan’s face didn’t change, but Rennie saw he was cracking up under the strain of the decision. He either wasn’t used to being called out or wasn’t used to being leader, maybe both. “War Chief says jump, you ask how high,” Swan finally said. The Warriors, uneasy, maneuvered their captives like a chain gang. Sean snarled and tried to break free, ineffectually. Mrs. van Deusen looked like she was about to hyperventilate.<br/>
As a scrawny Latino kid with a spray can flanked her, Rennie did her best to think. Ajax clearly wasn’t a fan of this Swan guy. Maybe hairy-chest-guy and jewelry-guy weren’t either. If they could get them to work against each other, maybe they stood a chance of breaking free-<br/>
A gun clicked.<br/>
“Hold up,” said Julius, in a quavering voice, gun in hand. Eva and Tamara stood behind him, clearly huddled and miserable, but all three glared down Swan and his gang with determination.<br/>
Well, that would work too.<br/>
Swan’s eyes narrowed. “This don’t concern you.”<br/>
“Kinda does,” said Julius, licking his lips. He clearly wasn’t at home holding a gun on someone, but he held it steady. “They’re with me. Now, I ain’t never used a gun before. Picked this up in some brawl a few blocks over- Riders and Zombies, I think, whatever- but the point is, I’ll shoot if I gotta. So let ‘em go, now.”<br/>
Rennie’s stomach was twisting. Julius was a friend, but a gun in unfamiliar hands just meant an additional threat in a situation that already wasn’t looking good. If anything went wrong-<br/>
Something went wrong. The big one, Ajax, lunged out of wherever he’d been hiding, shoving Eva aside and grabbing Julius. There was a struggle; everyone tensed, waiting for a finger to slip and a trigger to be pulled, but it didn’t come. Ajax, biceps straining, pulled Julius’ arm upwards, and the gun clattered to the ground. A few decisive punches, and Julius was sprawled on the ground, Ajax pinning him down.<br/>
“Fuck you, man,” Julius wheezed. “You wanna try a fair fight? I’ll kick your ass.”<br/>
“Nah,” Ajax snarled through a grin. “I just wanna win.”<br/>
Two more Warriors were already on Eva and Tamara before they could scream, one almost as big as Ajax, the other in a stupid cowboy hat. The cavalry was pretty well shut down before it had even gotten started.<br/>
Rennie wasn’t sure what could have made the situation worse, but the universe evidently was eager to offer suggestions.<br/>
<em>help meeee. heeeelp meeee!</em> The vision was back. <em>The deformed boy, screaming for help. This time, instead of drifting around, he was bathed in flames, flames wrapped around his entire body as flecks of rain battered his skin-</em><br/>
Rennie was screaming again before she knew it. Embarrassingly, all eyes were now on her. But that didn’t matter. The visions led Jason to her, she knew. That meant they were wasting time. He was already coming, or already here.<br/>
“Shut her up!” snarled Ajax. “Some cop might hear!”<br/>
Sean and Mrs. van Deusen were shouting- Sean for them to stay away from her, Mrs. van Deusen trying desperately to explain the fit away.<br/>
“Rembrandt, shut her up,” Swan said.<br/>
Suddenly Tamara was shrieking too. “It’s her! She was like this last time! She’s how Jason keeps finding us!”<br/>
Eva was at her side. “Tam, calm down-“<br/>
“<em>You</em> calm down! She’s some kind of freak, that’s how Jason keeps finding us!”<br/>
“EVERYONE, SHUT UP.” Nobody had heard Swan shout before, but it cut straight into the shrieking. “We don’t have time for one bit of this shit anymore. We’re making for the station and we’re riding all the way back to Coney. Rembrandt?”<br/>
The boy, the one at Rennie’s side, was silent.<br/>
“Rembrandt!” Swan snapped.<br/>
Rembrandt still didn’t respond, but he lifted a shaky hand and pointed to the end of the alley. There was a body hanging from the fence. The Warrior who’d died, neck tied around a fencepost by a filthy, frayed length of rope.<br/>
“That ain’t fuckin’ possible,” said the Warrior with the necklace, in disbelief. “Ain’t no way in hell he could catch up with us an no one see it-“<br/>
The same thought occurred to everyone at once.<br/>
Tamara started breathing at hyperventilation speed. “He’s here. He’s here, he’s here, he’s here…”<br/>
“Tammy, you need to calm down,” Rennie said; her own voice didn’t sound exactly calm in her own ears.<br/>
“<em>Fuck you!</em> This entire thing is your fault! I’m not even supposed to be here!”<br/>
The Warrior in the hat was neglecting his grip; Tamara shook herself free. “If you all want to stay and die, fine, but I’m getting the fuck out of here!” and she started sprinting. Some kind of spell broke. Still staring in horror at the body on the fence, everyone began to back up and then break formation.<br/>
Rennie saw someone’s foot carelessly bump the gun Julius had dropped, letting it clatter aside; she heard Swan yell “Don’t let him separate us!” but it was too late. Warriors and classmates began following Tammy’s suit, sprinting off in blind panic.<br/>
Rennie realized she was, too. It didn’t seem possible; she didn’t have enough energy. She ran anyway. They had superior numbers. That would do nothing. Jason Voorhees had fear on his side.<br/>
Bodies were everywhere, leather vests and soaked windbreakers. A Warrior was next to her. No, Sean. No, now Tammy was there, sobbing as she struggled to catch her breath-<br/>
Rennie couldn’t suppress a yelp as she saw the throwing knife sink into Tammy’s back. Eva stopped running and let out a horrified scream. There was confused whirling as some looked for the knife’s origin point.<br/>
No time to help, Rennie thought. No way to help. Just run. Run.<br/>
*** </p><p>Ajax was bringing up the rear, stumbling, cursing himself and everyone and everything. Near as he could tell, they didn’t have any destination in mind- the “away from” was more important now. </p><p>Didn’t make any sense. They’d set the fucker on fire. Ajax had hit him a dozen times. He was used to problems that could be beaten into submission. The thing in the mask had some kind of power over him, power to make him run, feel afraid. It was a complete inversion of norm and he wasn’t liking it. </p><p>He saw the knife whistle through the air and hit one of the chicks in the back, heard her scream and fall to the ground as the other one went to her side. Ajax paused for only a second to try and trace the knife’s path, saw nothing, and attempted to put on more speed. He was quite prepared to leave the two girls behind- they weren’t his soldiers, and they couldn’t take care of themselves, so they weren’t his problem. </p><p>And then Cowboy knelt to help them. Fuckin’ Cowboy. </p><p>“LEAVE HER!” Ajax snarled. </p><p>Cowboy didn’t listen; he wrapped one of the girl’s arms around his shoulder, while the other civilian, the big one Ajax had whaled on, grabbed the other one. </p><p>Idiots. The rest of the group was already leaving them in the dust now. They couldn’t afford to be slowed down further. </p><p>“Fuck you think you’re doing?!” Ajax tried to bellow. </p><p>“It’s okay, I got her!” Cowboy said, attempting to hobble. </p><p>And then It came out of nowhere, the big bastard in the hockey mask. He was on them. This was more than “fast.” He almost seemed not to fill the space between origin and destination. All Ajax knew was that the giant was behind them and a broken shard of glass was sprouting from a red stain on Cowboy’s neck. </p><p>The chick’s other pallbearer screamed and let her fall, while she begged helplessly. No good. Jason had her head in two massive hands, was lifting her off the ground, and then another shard of glass- from the same bottle Swan had thrown at him, Ajax realized- was in her eye, and she collapsed noiselessly. </p><p>Screw it. Time to go. Ajax turned and sprinted faster than he even knew he was able. The others were on their own. He heard more screams as he ran. </p><p>*** </p><p>Rennie didn’t know how they made it, but they did. Train station. Sean was there; Mrs. van Deusen was there; Julius and Tammy and Eva weren’t, and five more Warriors with them. No; six. The big one was charging towards them now. </p><p>As he clattered to a stop, Swan barked at him: “Where’s Cowboy?” </p><p>Ajax had difficulty looking his leader in the eye. “The thing got him.” </p><p>Slow fury was in Swan’s eyes. “You fucking left him?”</p><p>“He slowed down to help the civs. The thing was on us before I could help.” </p><p>Swan looked like he was prepared to say more, but bit down. He had a grimace on his face; somehow, Rennie got the friend “Cowboy” had been a friend. She spoke up.</p><p>“W-what about Julius, and- and my friends?“ </p><p>Ajax glared at her, clearly not happy being ordered around by someone not his leader, and she could tell Sean was glaring at him. In the end, Ajax said: </p><p>“They didn’t make it either.” </p><p>Rennie felt dizzy. </p><p>“No time to waste,” said Swan. “We’re hopping a train. Now. Vermin, you got our money?” </p><p>“I… yeah. Enough for nine.” said the hairy chested one. </p><p>“We’re still bringing them with us?” Ajax snarled. </p><p>“They’re still useful,” Swan said simply. </p><p>The necklaced one- they called him Cochise- moved close behind Swan. “War Chief, there’s police all over, looking for every gang in the city.” </p><p>“Worried about the police after what we’ve been through?” </p><p>“Hey, just cuz they ain’t voodoo shit, don’t mean they ain’t dangerous.”</p><p>“That’s fine. So are we.” </p><p>***<br/>
<em>Despite the fire, Jason is having the time of his un-life. The one in the hat is dead; the mean girl is dead; the boxer gave him no trouble and the other one just stared at him, catatonic, while he sliced her open. The rest have escaped, but no matter. They can’t hide from him. Even in this city he is the perfect hunter. Jason spent so long in his family’s home in Crystal Lake that he never realized what fun you could have in the big city.</em></p><p>
  <em>He passes more people; they wear leather jackets and all seem to carry switch blades, and are listening to a woman’s voice on a radio. They deserve death, too, of course, but they’re not a concern now. He continues to march, jostling the stand their radio is perched on.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>”Hey!” screams one of them. “Jackass, you think you can fuck with us?” The gang leaps up and starts following him, brandishing their knives and snarling.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jason makes short work of them. One manages to pull his mask off partially before he dies. Normally that infuriates Jason, but he’s just in too good a mood right now. But something catches his eyes, now. They all have such nice clothes… Jason doesn’t know what “Alice Cooper” is- some woman, he guesses- but he likes how the letters seem to be written in dripping blood.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Jason casts aside his workman’s shirt and slips on the T-shirt and leather jacket. He feels- surprisingly grown-up, somehow. He feels on top of the world.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A Hard Knock Life</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The car- a sleek old Cadillac hearse covered in neon-green graffiti scrawl- pulled up to the curb outside the newsstand, and out poured the Rogues, clad in leather caps and vests, whooping and leering their well-practiced leers. In the lead, with the most arrogant swagger and insolent grin, was Luther, the warlord. Luther liked to think of himself as the undisputed king of Hell’s Kitchen. The fact that nobody wanted it enough to dispute over it did little to mar that fantasy. And he felt especially good tonight.<br/>
It had been a good night for them. Cyrus was dead, the conclave was ruined, and the only witness was that Warrior, who wouldn’t be a problem too much longer. Time to treat the troops to something, and make a quick call. While Luther sauntered over to the nearby pay phone, the Rogues snatched what they wanted off the newsstand candy counter. His second-in-command, Cropsey, snatched up a tabloid; some loony had allegedly been running around the neighborhood in a Halloween devil costume walloping boppers with a billy club, and Cropsey was obsessed with every sleazy story about it he could get his hands on.<br/>
King Luther wrapped up his call. “Yeah. Yeah, we will. Take care of yourself, yeah?” Click.<br/>
Luther sidled up to where his lackeys were harassing the girl behind the candy counter, considered pulling a knife on one of them as a gag, decided it wasn’t worth the energy this time. Cropsey caught his eye.<br/>
“We set?”<br/>
“We’re set, alright.” Luther had a scratchy, oily voice that made most people’s skin crawl, and a crooked smile that made them quail inwardly. “Word just went out; the Warriors are takin’ the fall for Cyrus. And the Riffs want ‘em alive. Which means we don’t.”<br/>
Cropsey did his best to sound totally noncommittal- when talking to Luther, you were careful not to sound like you were questioning him, or doubting him, or even sound like you weren’t taking him seriously. He tended to take that badly. Luther was not nearly as smart or as influential as he thought he was, but you needed neither great strength nor influence to be violent.<br/>
“Let ‘em bump into some other gang, they get wasted, that loose end gets tied. Sooner someone grabs ‘em, the better.”<br/>
Luther tilted his head a bit and let an undercurrent of mockery into that scratchy, oily voice. “What’s the matter, you afraid the Warriors are gonna shoot their mouths off before they get racked?”<br/>
Cropsey got as defensive as he dared. “Yeah, right, the Warriors. I just don’t want the Riffs coming down on my head, alright?”<br/>
“No sweat, they’re looking for the Warriors! Remember? But we can do some looking too, ought to make you feel better.”<br/>
There was more mockery in Luther’s voice. Cropsey ground his teeth. King Luther got a good bunch of jollies out of making him look like a total toy in front of the gang. The warlord signaled, and the Rogues, still stuffing stolen candy in their pockets, rallied to him.<br/>
The girl at the stand register worked up the courage to speak. “Hey! What about the money you owe?”<br/>
Cropsey winced. You didn’t talk to Luther like that. The Rogues’ warlord shivered with rage, grabbed something off the stand and threw it at the girl’s head. “FOR WHAT?!” he shrieked.<br/>
The girl was cowed, said nothing and tried not to let fear show in her face. After a few tense seconds, Luther turned on his heel and stalked off. As they made their way back to the hearse, Cropsey caught a glimpse of some guy in an expensive suit- at first he seemed blind because of the dark glasses and cane, but that couldn’t be because he was looking right at them. Cropsey shook his head. No big thing. There were all kinds of weird characters in the city.<br/>
***<br/>
The whistling in his rotting ears fades. Jason steps out of the shadows. His new Alice Cooper shirt and leather jacket are entirely too small for his massive frame; the shirt is starting to tear over his chest, exposing grey rotten flesh. Tight clothes don’t bother him. He doesn’t need to breathe, after all.<br/>
The people of the city are strange. They all have their little packs… their gangs. Something has happened to him, here in the city; Jason feels something he’s never felt before. A need. He needs to fit in. And to fit in in this city, he will need a gang of his own. They can help him track the strange girl, and the boy who threw fire on him.<br/>
It’s a strange and unfamiliar thought- everyone outside the family has to be killed, that’s mother’s rule. Mother would not be pleased with this plan. But… they… they can help him find the strange girl, and the boy who threw fire on him. He will need some help to track them in this environment, surely. Yes… mother might understand that.<br/>
Jason observes another gang of people. They all wear strange face makeup and baseball uniforms. This will do.<br/>
***<br/>
“Around Forest Green, everyone’s heard the name Jason Voorhees. There are maybe a dozen stories about him, but there’s one everyone tells…<br/>
“He died of drowning when he was just a kid. His mother went insane, killed everyone she blamed for it, then her last victim chopped her head off with a machete. Everyone thought that was the end of it, but then Jason came back. Nobody knows how, not really. Maybe his mother was performing some kind of ritual. Maybe there was something in the lake. But however he did it, he came back… wrong.<br/>
“There were stories for years, him living in the forest like a hermit, with his mother’s severed head and the machete that killed her both on a little shrine. He lived there, trapping animals for himself, even though he didn’t need to eat, killing anyone who strayed onto his campgrounds. If you look at the official stats, Crystal Lake drives the national average for deaths abroad and mysterious disappearances…<br/>
“And now he’s back. He’s here in New York. Nothing can stop him, he’ll just keep coming. He doesn’t feel fear or pity, or remorse. And he’s hunting us.”<br/>
They sat there in the silence of the traincar, the nine survivors. Teacher, two students, six gangbangers; the only other person on board was a lightly snoring vagrant. There had been others, but Swan’s glare had sent them off, clearly disquieted. The gang leader sat there now, foot propped on his chair, arm slung around his leg, eyes staring Rennie in the eyes intensely. She wondered what else she could say.<br/>
“It’s following you,” Swan said at length. “That’s what the other chick said. This Vooris thing, or whatever. She said it was following you.”<br/>
The big one- Ajax- opened his mouth to speak. “Swan, you ain’t buyin’ this shit, are you? What, that’d make him some kind of zombie? Like in some fuckin’ scary movie for pussies?”<br/>
“Hey, man, War Chief threw a firebomb on that thing and it just kept coming,” Cochise put in. Vermin was about to join in when Swan raised his hand in a quieting gesture. His gaze hadn’t turned from Rennie.<br/>
“She said it was following you. Drawn to you. Something like that.”<br/>
Rennie tried not to fidget. Everyone’s eyes were on her now. What could she say? If she admitted it, what then? Tie her up, leave her on some street corner for Jason, like a human sacrifice? Maybe she should lie. But somehow her brain just didn’t want to.<br/>
“I… I think so. I’ve had these weird visions all my life. And lately, since this trip started, I’ve been having these specific ones. Of a boy drowning. And I think… when I have them, Jason can tell where I am. Like they’re some kind of beacon, he can use the visions to find me.”<br/>
“That’s crazy-“ Mrs. van Deusen protested feebly.<br/>
“It’s not!” Rennie tried not to scream. “He’s following me. I don’t know how, or what, but my visions always happen right before he finds us. Somehow they’re connected.”<br/>
“Now she’s fuckin’ Carrie,” Ajax snarled, but halfheartedly.<br/>
Swan spoke, calmly, in measured tones, and everyone else listened in rapt attention. “That thing wasted two of my best soldiers. Cut ‘em in pieces. One of ‘em was my oldest friend. You tell me it’s just you he’s following? That’s our bad luck, I guess, bumping into you. Maybe I have Ajax and Snow pry the doors open and we throw you out, that’s the end of our bad luck, right?”<br/>
Sean stood slowly. He had a key in his hand, presumably ready to scratch anyone who came near. “You can try it.”<br/>
The Warriors didn’t seem very impressed by that. “Sit the fuck down.”<br/>
“You’re so scared of Jason? Fine. You go your way, let us go ours.”<br/>
Rennie’s heart was pounding. On the one hand, that would mean no more gangbangers. On the other hand, it meant going out to face Jason alone. The selfish, vicious, shameful thought rose in her mind; if nothing else, losing the Warriors meant that many fewer bodies between her friends and that machete.<br/>
Swan might have been amused, but he just looked annoyed, as always. “No. You stay with us for now.”<br/>
There were murmurs of protest from the Warriors. “Hey, you said yourself, man, if that thing’s after her, I want her at least three boroughs away-“ she heard Vermin say.<br/>
Swan spoke up. “And you heard me. That thing took down two of our own. We’re the Warriors. You hit one of us, the rest of us come down on you. We wipe you the fuck out. I don’t care who does it, not some small-time gang or… whatever it is we saw tonight. Either we take care of our own or we’re nothing. So you’re coming with us, to Coney.”<br/>
“Man, Swan, we can’t do a damn thing against that monster-“<br/>
“Didn’t sign on for fightin’ zombies, man-“<br/>
“Just throw her off the train-“<br/>
What happened next surely had to qualify as a miracle. Ajax spoke, and said “He’s right.” Even Swan looked taken aback. But Ajax said it again. “War Chief’s right. We take care of our own or we ain’t shit. Fox and Cowboy were Warriors. We watch after our own.”<br/>
That appeared to be it. The other Warriors settled, if reluctantly, terror still in their faces. But nobody was moving to chuck them off the train. So. Still alive, for now. Sean seemed to sink back into his chair, completely drained. Rennie squeezed her hand; she realized Mrs. van Deusen’s was holding it. They were still alive for now… but the night was still young.<br/>
***<br/>
Manhattan was divided up like a map of the world circa World War I, with just as many boundaries and alliances and old rivalries. Around Riverside Park, the reigning power was the Baseball Furies. They were new to the Big Leagues, star players on a meteoric rise; that they’d made it as far as this was a bit of curveball, you might say.<br/>
But they had plenty of muscle, every member drilled and armed with a heavy wooden bat. They had style. They had discipline. And they knew the value of fear as a weapon. By command of Cobb, their warlord, they covered their faces in warpaint that gave them all a demonic appearance, and in a brawl they were careful never to speak to one another. Silence could terrify in a way that loud whooping just didn’t compare, Cobb found.<br/>
In their base, an abandoned Riverside baseball diamond, Cobb stood now and surveyed his starting lineup, and started his customary pep talk. “Furies. You heard our Away Team. And the DJ’s play-by-play confirms it. Cyrus dead, and the Warriors responsible. That shit, that just ain’t sportsmanlike.”<br/>
In the dugout, his team sat with rapt attention but gave no vocal sign of acknowledgement. Good. That was as it should be.<br/>
“It was Cyrus who put us on track to the major league. So we can’t just let this play stand. We got a big game tonight, against those Warriors.”<br/>
A few Furies gritted their teeth, tightened hands over their weapons. Each of their bats was made up to be unique, some with brass studs or strings of barbed wire for added clout with every swing.<br/>
“Next thing those Warriors try to do, will be to steal home. So we head them off at 96th and Broadway. Then we get them into Riverside, where we’ve got the home field advantage. And once we got ‘em there, we waste those small time fucks, and bring the bodies back as trophies for the Riffs.”<br/>
The Furies stood as a man, clacking their bats furiously against handrails, benches, the ground, everything. It was what passed for thunderous applause among them. Their eyes were full of bloodthirsty glee, but they remained silent.<br/>
“But,” Cobb said, “just to show you I’m a team player. Same deal as always. If anyone here doesn’t like my leadership- if anyone else wants to try their hand at being captain- well, step right up and challenge me now. If you can pry my bat from my hands, the title of warlord is all yours.”<br/>
As always nobody took him up of the offer. The applause continued. The most dangerous game was about to begin. The Furies were going out for Coney Island blood.<br/>
This is it, Cobb thought. We bring back the Warriors, then our rep goes out of the park. There won’t be a single network in the city we aren’t on top of. We get as big as the Riffs maybe. And after that, well… only room for one at the top. Maybe we wipe them out, or we let ‘em stay on as minor league affiliates. Either way, the Baseball Furies are gonna be running this city soon enough.<br/>
And that was when Cobb turned around and saw the figure- a hulking mass of muscle in a torn shirt and leather jacket and hockey mask- and, Cobb only realized peripherally, a wicked-looking machete in a sheath at his side- standing at the pitcher’s mound. Cobb was momentarily stunned. There was an understanding in Riverside. Nobody intruded in the Furies’ base. Nobody.<br/>
“Fuck you think you’re doing here?” he snarled. the stranger was absolutely silent, which enraged Cobb all the more because he was unused to the receiving end of it. Cobb tromped up to the interloper, cleats crunching on the diamond grass.<br/>
“Think you’re fuckin’ funny, big man? Wrong mask for this league, you fucking faggot-“<br/>
His bat struck the giant on the side of his head. The mask came loose. Cobb had only a split second to glimpse the rotting, ruined remains of Jason Voorhees’ face, and the horror and revulsion was the last thing his mind had time to process.<br/>
In a quick motion, Jason ripped the bat from Cobb’s grasp, and shoved it handle first down Cobb’s gullet. The Furies looked on in silence. Not their normal silence, of the intimidator; this was the silence of the intimidated. It was like a grotesque cartoon. The body that had once been Cobb looked like a gruesome popsicle. The giant wrenched the bat back and forth, Cobb’s jaws dislocating with a sickening crack.<br/>
Then Jason Voorhees removed the bat, slick with blood, and looked over his new gang, and raised it over his head in triumph.<br/>
***<br/>
The visions weren’t bothering her now. That was a relief, although in light of the fact that they were effectively still being held hostage by New York gangbangers, it probably shouldn’t have been. Rennie could feel Sean’s restlessness and Mrs. van Deusen’s barely-quelled panic, both searching for some way out that wasn’t there. That lasted until both of them drifted to sleep, along with a few of the other Warriors. It had been a long night; Rennie was surprised she wasn’t asleep too.<br/>
She took stock of her surroundings. The big one was restlessly boxing with one of the hand-grips. Swan had eyes open but was staring intensely at nothing. Across from her, one of the Warriors was still awake- the younger one, she guessed. Long lashes, big poof of hair, red scarf, bag of spray paint. Something about him seemed different than the rest of the gang, she noted. Where the others were boisterous and loud, this one seemed quiet, nervous.<br/>
Should she? Shouldn’t she? Too late, she did. “So. What’s your name?” she asked.<br/>
The ‘banger looked confused for a second, like he was trying to work out what the protocol was in this situation. Eventually, he mumbled “I’m our artist. So they call me Rembrandt.”<br/>
“Artist?”<br/>
“…when we march on new territory I leave our mark. So other gangs know we claim it. Tonight was supposed to… well. There was a big meeting at van Cortlandt tonight, every gang who’s anyone was gonna show up. And they did. Cyrus called it, and he’s the real deal, president of the biggest gang in town. But…”<br/>
“But?”<br/>
“He got shot. Nobody saw who, police I guess. But we all hadda get out of there, fast. Our leader- not Swan, our real leader, Cleon- he got grabbed. We ain’t seen him since, so it’s a good bet he got wasted. For a second I forgot.”<br/>
Rennie tried to process that. For a girl who grew up in suburban Jersey, this information didn’t seem fully real. Rembrandt had to be- what, two, three, four years younger than her? And here he was, talking about territories and gang signs and friends getting shot and killed before his eyes.<br/>
“That... that all happened tonight?”<br/>
“Yeah, before we bumped into you. Don’t seem like nothing after fighting a zombie, though,” the boy said sheepishly.<br/>
“But… I mean, you could have been killed.”<br/>
“That’s how it is, on the streets.”<br/>
Rennie swallowed and looked at the kid again. He was so much younger than her. “Rembrandt isn’t your real name,” she said, phrasing it as not quite a question and not quite a statement.<br/>
There was that suspicious look again. But he said: “My real name’s Hinton. James Hinton. But the gang calls me Rembrandt.”<br/>
“And… I mean, you’re happy with them? Where’s your family?”<br/>
This time his look was more than suspicious, almost offended, but he didn’t get sharp. “They’re my family. As good as, or better. My real home, I got nothing except a brother on junk and a mom who doesn’t even know I’m there. The Warriors stand by one another. We have an enemy, we fight them together. We look out for each other. You wouldn’t get that.”<br/>
Rennie’s mind flashed to Uncle Charles, and the classmates who’d died. Sean and Mrs. van Deusen. Over the past night they’d had to fight for each other, against something inhuman and monstrous.<br/>
“That’s what it’s like for us,” Rembrandt said. “For all of us. You either get with a gang or you’re a target for every other one. We got no one to look after us, unless we look out for each other.”<br/>
Rennie dropped the issue. But lowered her voice and attempted a halfhearted smile. “So what about him?”  She nodded her head almost-imperceptibly in Ajax’s direction.<br/>
“Thought for sure he was either going to leave us for Jason or start a fight with Swan. Still pretty sure he doesn’t like us. Why’d he stick his neck out for us?”<br/>
Rembrandt shrugged. “Ajax is rough. But he’s one of us. He always has been.”<br/>
<em>…Rembrandt remembered… he staggered into the Warriors’ base, eye bruised and cut, civilian clothes torn, trying not to pass out. The other members of the gang had him surrounded in an instant. Snow fireman-carried him over to their threadbare couch.</em><br/>
<em>“Fuck, kid. You lose a fight with a Cuisinart?” Vermin asked. It was a joke but his tone was hushed, not mocking.</em><br/>
<em>”Where’s Cleon? Someone get him, and the war chief,” Fox muttered, sounding urgent. If it was a rival gang, this would definitely end in war.</em><br/>
<em>Cries of pain and coherent speech fought each other on the way out of his throat; Rembrandt managed to say: “Norbert… m’ mom’s boyfriend… he wigged the fuck out…</em><br/>
<em>There were some sympathetic nods. Most of the Warriors were familiar with home troubles, to some degree. But Ajax’s reaction was more extreme. “MOTHERFUCKER!” he snarled. He threw 20-pound dumbbell aside and stalked into the back of the warehouse, footsteps resounding.</em><br/>
<em>”What’s that lunkface doing now? Swan’s gonna go postal,” Cowboy muttered. Rembrandt was still groggy; he was aware of Cochise forcing a candy bar- about the only food they kept in stock- into his hands. Ajax stomped back in, a leaden pipe clutched in one fist and propped against a muscular shoulder.</em><br/>
<em>”Where you think you’re going with that?” Cowboy asked.</em><br/>
<em>”Fuckin’ obvious. Kid can’t stay at his place, so I’ll get some of his shit, bring it back here.”</em><br/>
<em>”So what’s the fuckin’ pipe for?”</em><br/>
<em>”Carryin’ shit.”</em><br/>
Rembrandt snapped back to the present. Ajax had tracked Norbert down to some watering hole and jumped him that night, beat him near senseless. After that, Norbert had always given Rembrandt a wider berth. The artist looked Rennie in the eye again.<br/>
“We look out for each other.”<br/>
That seemed to be it. Rennie was aware again of how young he was. Just a kid in a bad circumstance. Maybe he’d just seen so much violence that he couldn’t imagine the world without violence. For some reason her mind wandered back to her visions, and the small, terrified, deformed boy calling for help as he drowned.<br/>
***<br/>
Swan was exhausted but didn’t allow himself to sleep. It seemed impossible. A few hours ago, simply evading the other gangs had been the biggest priority in his life. He had never believed in things like zombies or monsters before. The world didn’t seem quite big enough to contain all the normal human cruelty that was already in it. But tonight he’d seen a man survive being burned alive. A man who could move through shadows, and rip apart human flesh with his bare hands. This Jason Voorhees was for real. </p><p>And he had lost his best friend. He wasn’t really sure what you did in this situation. In a gang, his kind of gang, you had to harden yourself against possibilities like this. People got wasted and that was that. No point getting too attached. Nonetheless. Cowboy had been his friend. And Fox had been a loyal Warrior. He didn’t yet know the ropes of being leader, but he knew the Warriors had to look after one another. Or they weren’t anything. </p><p>The train kept going through the night. All the way back to Coney.</p>
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